


Stage Directions

by MadameFolie



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/M, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameFolie/pseuds/MadameFolie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sigrun has the boys put on a little show for her; they're ever so eager to please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stage Directions

 

Over his shoulder, he can feel Sigrun's gaze burning into his back.

 

"That's right," she tells them. "But don't make him bend to kiss you. Get up on your toes for it."

 

Reynir doesn't even need to be told -- he meets Emil's lips with practiced ease, hands interlocking at the small of Emil's back to support him. He's surprisingly strong. For a civilian. He's got light stubble that Emil's never noticed before, not until now, as it rasps against his skin. He nudges Emil's jaw to an angle so he can seal his mouth to the crease of his throat. Emil turns them so that Sigrun can see: his neck bared, Reynir's lips mapping the terrain of him.

 

"Looks fun. Does it feel good?" There's a smile in Sigrun's voice.

 

"Yeah. Yeah, he's good."

 

"Why don't you tell him? I'm sure you can figure out something he'll understand." Something he'll understand? Something he'll...oh. Realization crushes the breath from his lungs; he can't refill them quickly enough to keep his head from swimming. Emil threads his fingers into Reynir's hair. It's so coarse and wiry. One would think he'd take better care of it. It could be really nice hair, if he tried. Not everyone's so lucky. The kisses Reynir lays to the hollow of his throat stoke the embers of his want. If Reynir could lay him down on the bed and just attend to that spot for hours, Emil thinks he could come without ever taking his clothes off.

 

"Right there," he breathes. He grips Reynir's hair hard and draws him closer. As Reynir's lips purse and pull at the dip, he's careful to moan. Careful so that Reynir and Sigrun can hear it. Reynir's shoulders stutter against his breast. He's laughing to himself. He says something that sounds encouraging, so Emil thinks he probably understood.

 

"Undo his hair. And pay some extra attention to his neck while you're at it." Over on the bed, Sigrun has parted her legs, one upright with the foot braced against the mattress, the other splayed to the side. She traces a finger along herself, but there's one of those plastic toys waiting at her hip. Emil wonders if she's planning on using it as well. He's not sure how well he'll be able to focus knowing that.

 

As carefully as he can, he teases the tie free of Reynir's hair. It's not so easy, not with Reynir peeling his clothing open. He's turned his efforts to Emil's exposed stomach, kneeling to lap at his belly button. Emil combs his fingers through the end of Reynir's tatty braid, raking them through until it's entirely unreeled and spilling across his shoulders. Reynir pauses to smile at him, face flushed and lips slick. It's just. It's not fair. He's not supposed to be this good-looking. Emil cups his jaw with a hand and can't help the way his heart skips a beat when Reynir leans into it. Emil feels for the ridge of his spine. He seems to like that, stretching catlike to push Emil's fingertips into his skin.

 

"I think he likes being on his knees. What do you say, kid? We gonna give him something fun to do down there?"

 

"I...I've got an idea. For something." He cradles the back of Reynir's skull. Reynir's entire body goes taut for a moment as Emil presses his face to his groin, and then lax. There's too much fabric in the way for either of them to feel each other properly, but. But it's the idea that counts. Reynir looks like he gets the idea. He nestles against Emil's cock and inhales -- but there can't possibly be any scent through all those layers. Or not much of one. He keens against Emil, though, and fasts his mouth between his legs. Holy shit. Emil jerks his chin towards the ceiling and clasps a hand over his face. Holy _shit_. He thinks -- no, he _knows_ \-- that's Reynir's tongue there, lapping at his cock.

 

"Heh." Sigrun thumbs at herself, rocking up against her own hand. "Ten points for Farm Boy. Help him out a little."

 

"R-right." It's tricky, since everything's all foggy, but Emil fumbles for the button at his waist. He hasn't got so much as a chance to spread the fly open and out of the way before Reynir's tongue slides slick over his fingers, drags against his underwear.  "Just let me get this--" A palm presses up under him, broad and possessive. He feels the claim on him as deep as his heart. It's torture, being wrung open so raw. He thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, where a shred of dignity still remains and vocally so, that he should be doing something about this. After all, he's got no business being upstaged like this in front of the captain -- by a bumbling rustic, no less. He cranes his neck to see: Sigrun has stretched out on her side by the edge of the bed to watch, head resting on her arms in interest. The plastic thing is nowhere to be seen. Her eyes are creased fondly at the corners as she takes in the sight of them.

 

Emil musters up all of his resolve. There's one thing he can do to even the playing field. He edges, shakily, down the wall until he can push onto his knees on level with Reynir.

 

"You're not giving me a fair shot," he tells him, sweeping that curtain of embarrassing hair out of the way. "It's my turn now." And before his resolve has a moment to falter, he leans forth to bring their lips together. To his credit, Reynir is more responsive that Emil would have expected, falling comfortably into pace at Emil's discretion. Good. He tips Reynir's chin just a tad, enough to get the right angle to show off his profile. He's seen him a few times, when he watches the Silent World out the window. He's got a nice silhouette. Pity he doesn't mind himself better. He could look quite passable if he really wanted. For now, it'll have to do. He splays a hand over Reynir's hip; Reynir, one between Emil's legs once more.

 

"Nice." Sigrun traces her fingertips down her stomach, down her gut, down to the hair between her legs and back up again. "Freckles wants your cock real bad, kid. I say you give him what he wants." Emil's so ready to oblige. So, so ready. "He's asking nicely. Like a good boy. Hey, Freckles. Reynir." That gets his attention. Reynir breaks free to listen, temple resting in the crook of Emil's neck. Sigrun looks hungrily, deliberately, at them. First at Reynir's lips, down the line of Emil's throat and breast to his erection laying warm against Reynir's hand. But Reynir gives her a cheeky little grin, like he's the one who's in on this plan. Dumb jerk. Emil can't believe how badly he's aching to feel his stupid throat around him.

 

Except it's Reynir who lowers them to the floor. And when Emil tries to wrest them both into place, it's almost like Reynir is merely letting him. He regards Emil with that mild, absent-minded expression of his, hands reaching up for his face. Whatever he's saying, it's lost on Emil. His voice is gentle, though. The bare skin of his chest prickles in the still afternoon air. He's only half hard when Emil pushes his threadbare pants out of the way. The homespun's coarse the way that Reynir is soft, and he marvels at the sensation of him under his hands. Warm and yielding. It almost seems like a waste to pry away from him to straddle his head. Sigrun stretches out an arm to stroke her approval down his back.

Emil rests his cock at Reynir's lips. (He could do it, if he wanted. He could push right in without any warning and watch him start and cough. His eyes would go wide with shock. His fingertips would dig into Emil's waist. Emil could use him, and he'd probably love it.) Reynir's tongue flits out to beneath the head of his cock, for a single instant. He tries to draw Emil down to him, tries to fill himself. Emil can't hear his own thoughts over his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

 

"Slowly," he tries to warn him. "It has to look good." Reynir probably doesn't understand, but his eyes fall shut and he molds his lips to match Emil's girth and lets Emil slip inside him at his leisure. It's great. From the pressure of his tongue to the ripples of his palate, it's all Emil could have asked for and then some. He smooths Reynir's hair back off his forehead. He's sweating, poor guy. If he could manage to turn, he'd like to look and see if he's fully hard yet. On the bed, Sigrun's wrist is bent between her thighs, working the plastic thing in and out of herself in steady pulls. She hums her pleasure at the scene they've arranged for her. Her toes curl and flex in the sheets. She likes it. She _likes_ it.

 

He wants her down there with them like all the other times, telling them where to touch her. How to move and how to be, all the things that make her happy. Reynir's hands explore the length of his body. He's loathe to admit it, but they're. Pleasant. The way they caress his waist and hips as if entranced by the very physicality of his being. It's all probably too much for him. His chin is slick against Emil's testes, wet rivulets snaking down past his ears. Emil rolls his hips into him in short strokes, not enough to choke him, but enough to work him to a rhythm. Any other way, and Emil's not sure either of them can last. Reynir's body shifts beneath him in time with his own, straining for any relief he can find.

 

"Shit. Shit." Sigrun groans, coiling taut where she lies. "I knew you'd play nice together. My good boys. Let me see those pretty faces." He must look a mess, but Emil musters all the poise he can for her. He can do it, if it's for her. Reynir's countenance, on the other hand, is comparatively unsalvageable even helped to sitting, his lips bruised, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, hair matted to his scalp. Emil brushes his lips to his temple. It. Somehow it seems like a good thing to do. Beyond his line of sight, he can feel Reynir reaching for his hand.

 

Sigrun finishes first. She demands a kiss from them both before she comes, but she growls out a curse and goes taut at last. When her body has settled, she folds a pillow beneath her head to enjoy the rest of the show with what energy she has remaining. She lets a yawn go unstifled.

 

"Alright, let's wrap this up. Think you can finish each other off with your hands?"

 

He's willing to try. Reynir lets himself be guided to grasp Emil's cock, as Emil takes his in hand in turn. They set an easy pace between them, Reynir's face buried into his shoulder. In all fairness, he's had too much of a head start, and so he comes some time before Reynir does; he wastes quite a bit of a perfectly good post-orgasm haze working Reynir to completion. Reynir mouths clumsily at him when he's close, and is very insistent on holding him after.

 

He hasn't even opened his mouth to begin extricating his self from Reynir's arms when the heavy blanket drops onto both their heads. Followed shortly by Sigrun, yawning in shorter intervals still.

 

"Good show! What'd I tell you? Easy."

 

"Mm." It wasn't so bad. She throws one end of the blanket over his shoulders and makes to corral Reynir inside. He turns that self-conscious smile towards her; she rewards him with a ruffle of his hair. Emil reminds himself he doesn't need the extra trouble of putting his looks to rights. He casts about for Reynir's clothing so they can wipe their selves off.

 

"More fun when I get to play hands-on with you both instead, though."

 

"Yeah." He feels a little warmer for knowing that, although it could just be the blanket. It's hardly a proper clean-up job with the hem of the discarded tunic, but it will suffice and Reynir doesn't mind that Emil dries his belly off for him. He says something incomprehensible, his usual flurry of meaningless noise. Under the cover of the blanket, though, his hand seeks Emil's. And as Sigrun gathers them both into her arms and drags them all reeling to the floor, Emil thinks to himself that the arrangement isn't quite so bad. He could get used to this.

 

Though at very least, going forward, they're going to need a bigger bed.


End file.
